


citrus and honey

by lahtays



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Pining, bisexual detective, girls who quote sappho together end up together sorry i don't make the rules, standard wlw gayzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahtays/pseuds/lahtays
Summary: "Ava stares at her darkly for a long time, using the silence as a means to calm her racing heart. Beatrice meets her glare stubbornly, without a hint of fear, and with another smile playing on her soft lips, mischievous and expectant but altogether kind.Anything, Ava thinks miserably. I would let this girl get away with anything."
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain, Female Detective/Ava du Mortain
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	citrus and honey

Beatrice's home is exactly as Ava had expected it. Horrible. Awful. Excruciatingly terrible _._

_Cosy._

Mason and Farah may as well be a part of the furniture already, nestled comfortably along a yellow loveseat and buried amidst a half dozen eyesore novelty pillows. One pillow depicts a mouse in heart shaped glasses. The other, wrapped snug in Farah's arms, is some artist's poor attempt at a slasher villain in a bright pop art style. It's supposed to be _funny_ , according to the detective. _I_ _ronic. ‘Neat'._

Farah had laughed. Nate laughed, too. Ava had not. 

No, she had been far too busy saving face; keeping her eyes locked on the floorboards and counting each light scratch against the cedar panels so as not to let her eyes linger on the young woman's beaming smiling. That white toothed, crinkle eyed, scrunched up nose, _dimple-on-her-left-cheek_ smile. 

The imagery alone is enough to make her chest ache and her frustrations flare anew. There's only so many times she can recite ‘ _focus on the objective’_ in her mind before the redundancy of her own thoughts begins to piss her off. She's _better_ than this. Better than such distractions, such temptations,such ridiculously mortal _hopes_. 

Or rather, she's _supposed_ to be. 

Nate, at the very least, seems to remember his mission parameters, even if he does so in his own sentimental way. As he works out exit strategies and combat advantages within the confines of the open plan living space, Ava doesn't miss the warmth in his eyes as he regards the detective's things, his gaze migrating from shelf to shelf, bouncing from eccentric knick-knack to overwatered pot plant to every smiling photo frame. 

Ava won't allow herself to follow his line of site, lest she find her own heart warming, too. She’s already losing, in that regard. There's no salvation for her senses, nowhere she can hide, no corner of this cursed apartment that isn't overwhelming with the feeling of _her_. 

“Tea, guys?” 

As if on cue, Beatrice holds up a freshly boiled kettle to the group in offering, as well as another smile that Ava abruptly turns her back to. Farah and Mason decline, but Nate crosses over towards the counter, a relieved murmur of thanks already on his lips as he takes a freshly poured cup from her hands. Soon, the room fills with the all-to-her scent of citrus and honey. Ava exhales through her nose in annoyance, but not before she savours the smell with an inhale. 

“Ava?” 

Beatrice's voice, melodic without trying to be, is far closer than it had been only a moment before; sure enough, she turns her head to find the detective eyeing her expectantly. Ava doesn't jump so much as bristle, irritated by the reminder that her head isn't where it needs to be right now. “Yes?” she replies, her voice strained. 

“Tea?” The shorter woman shakes her head, her eyes glinting bemusedly. “Do you partake in the consumption of leafy beverages? Yay or nay?” 

Farah snickers, and watches Ava with a knowing smirk. Ava rolls her eyes. “No.” 

“Ah, so you’re a coffee girl.” Beatrice nods in solemn understanding. “A woman after my own heart. I'll make us some!” 

“No, thank you.” 

“You don't want coffee?” 

“No.” 

Beatrice frowns, though it looks endearing enough to be a pout. “Uh . . . well I have cider in the fridge, I think, or . . . hm. Orange juice, cocoa, soda – oh, and water! Obviously. Would you like a glass of water? I can put some ice in - ” 

“No, detective.” Ava swallows a sigh. “I'm sure I can manage.” 

She can feel each pair of her teammates’ keen eyes upon her, watching the pantomime unfold before them with varying degrees of amusement. Farah buries her face in her pop-art pillow to hide her laughter. Mason doesn't bother to hide it at all. Even Nate, polite as ever, works to keep his lips from contorting into an annoyingly fond smile. 

They all watch, waiting as if something were about to happen. Only, _nothing_ is about to happen. Not now, nor ever. How could it, when Ava is _Ava,_ and Beatrice is . . . 

_Well._ It's not a trail of thought worth following. 

“Worry about yourself,” she mutters awkwardly, not meeting the detective's gaze. A beat later, she adds, “Thank you, though.” 

The detective bites her tongue, and her next smile is less warm, more ironic. “Is there anything you _do_ want?” she asks, sounding lighter than she means. 

“Oh, _I_ can think of a few things,” Mason smirks. 

Nate shushes Farah as she laughs, but the detective doesn't seem to hear it, much to Ava's relief. She's staring up at her, brown eyes made dark pools in the evening shadows, deep and warm and inviting. Ava drags her own eyes back to the floorboards with haste. 

“I would . . .” _G_ _et a hold of yourself!_ “I would _like_ to see the master bedroom, if you aren't using it at present. It's the only room we've yet to conduct a risk assessment for.” It's the truth, and also a convenient excuse to get out from under the grinning scrutiny of her teammates. 

“ _T_ _he master bedroom?_ ” Triss laughs. “What am I, the Queen of England? This is a _condo._ I'm lucky I have one bedroom at all. Come on, this way.” 

Ava opens her mouth to protest – it _is_ a condo, and small enough that she doesn't need a tour guide – but the detective has already started past her towards her bedroom door, holding it open for Ava with an agonizingly bright smile. Ava tenses, and then follows through into the bedroom a moment later, swallowing down her defeat, as well as her nerves. 

Beatrice closes the door her as she enters after Ava, sending a jolt of something akin to electricity up Ava's spine. She would turn back, frown at it, if it weren't for the first thing she sees when she's led through the threshold. 

The mural. 

No - the _flag_. The horizontal lines of pink-purple-blue that bleed into the wall above the detective's bed and demand nothing short of Ava's full focus. 

With her back to Beatrice, she has to close her eyes, has to grit her teeth to keep the smile off her lips as a suspicion – a stubborn hope – is finally confirmed. 

Pink, purple, blue. Good colours. 

"Oh, that?" Coming to her side, Beatrice leans against the bed post, smiling fondly up at the faded, uneven paint. "Convinced myself I was an artist one weekend. That was the unfortunate result. But hey, love still wins, right?" she snorts. 

Ava shouldn't ask, shouldn't _care,_ but the question is on her lips before she can think to show restraint. "Did you always know?" 

"No, not at all," the detective laughs. "I realized late; figured I was just a _really good friend_ or something. Female solidarity, and all that." 

"I see." 

"Took me a while to figure everything out, even after connecting the dots, but folks helped. Google helped more _. 'Sweet mother, I cannot weave. Slender Aphrodite has -'"_

_"-' has overcome me with longing for a girl.'"_ Ava clears her throat. "I am familiar with it." 

The woman beside her meets her gaze steadily, her smile softening. "I can see that." 

A silence, heavy and uncomfortably charged, presses between the two of them in a way that makes Ava bristle, and she deliberately avoids the other woman's eyes as they seek to regard her. In the corner of her periphery, she catches the waver in Beatrice's smile as she makes her observations, jumps to her own conclusions. The smile doesn't leave her face, but for now, it seems its muscle memory rather than true joviality that keeps her lips upturned. 

Ava is about to turn away from the mural when Triss speaks first. "And . . . what about you?" she asks slowly. Gently. 

"What about me?" 

"Did you always know?" 

Ava meets her gaze directly this time, and works to keep her own expression vacant and still. "Why would you think -" 

"Ava. Come on." 

The tone is warm, without frustration, but Ava would find her animosity easier to process. Triss . . . she's too much like Nate, sometimes. Too warm, too good. 

Like Nate, only more. So _much_ more. Ava takes a long, deep breath, then shakes her head. 

“Always,” she answers simply. “I always knew.” 

She's told this tale before, many times now, and yet must be the first time the confession feels like a quiet exhale, as opposed to a shuddering gasp. The words hang with surprisingly ease in the air, cradled by the thoughtful consideration of the brunette woman before her. Beatrice's lips are pursed in an absent frown now, but a warmth remains, and Ava suspects it may be a far more authentic expression than any of her smiling façades she usually responds with. 

Finally, just as Ava thinks to open her mouth to dismiss the subject entirely, Triss shakes her head. “You’ve lived a long time,” she says carefully. “It must have been . . . it must have been very hard.” 

Ava’s heart stutters at memories best left buried. “What it _was_ and what it _was_ _not_ is inconsequential. The past is the past. It isn't important.” 

“Of course it's important,” Beatrice presses. 

Ava rolls her eyes, her hands making loose fists at her side. “And why is that, detective?” 

“Because it's _you_.” 

Ava stares at her darkly for a long time, using the silence as a means to calm her racing heart. Beatrice meets her glare stubbornly, without a hint of fear, and with another smile playing on her soft lips, mischievous and expectant but altogether kind. _Anything_ , Ava thinks miserably. _I_ _would_ _let this_ _girl get away with anything_ _._ She forces out a weary sigh. 

“There's a great deal more to me than _that_ , Beatrice. Just as I'm sure there's more to you, also.” She gestures pointedly at the mural behind her. 

The detective blinks at the use of her name, her _full_ name, but covers it with an easy-going smile. “I know there is. And I'd like to . . . that is to say, you could tell me more about yourself, one day, if you wanted. All I meant was that it _means_ something. To _me_ , if not to you.” 

It _means something, or_ I _do?_ She nearly chokes on the question before she swallows it down, frowning and casting her eyes for the genuine care of her gaze. “What you chose to care about is your business, detective,” she says roughly. It comes out weak. “I can't stop you.” 

Triss shrugs, her smile turning coy. “No, you can't. Well, you could try. It might be interesting.” 

Ava blinks, bewildered, and with that the detective makes her departure, pulling open her bedroom door and looking back over her shoulder to offer a parting grin. “Turn the lights off you finish,” she says innocently. 

“When I . . .” Ava clears her throat. “When I finish . . .?” 

“The risk assessment, Ava _._ ” 

“I - oh. The risk assessment. Yes, of course. I shall.” 

“You ‘ _shall_ _’_ _._ ” Beatrice shakes her head, laughing at a joke Ava isn't in on. “Oh, but I love that.” 

And then she closes the door, leaving Ava alone with wandering thoughts, a racing pulse, and the all too vivid memory of that smile. 

That white toothed, crinkle eyed, scrunched up nose, _dimple-on-her-left-cheek_ fucking smile. 

She shakes her head, setting to work in the hopes it might calm the fluttering cadence of her heart, or at the very least, rid her of the warmth she feels spreading in her chest. _No_ , she thinks, willing a resolve she doesn't feel in the thought. She won't tell her tale to Beatrice, won't bare her soul before a mortal girl she can't afford to care for. _And yet . . ._

And yet as she looks around the room, soaking up the imprints of a life lived happily, she imagines it. Telling her everything, _anything_ , and having it mean something. 

She won't do it, but just for tonight, she imagines. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you all enjoyed <3 i love ava more than life itself rn, so for anybody who feels the same, my tumblr @ lavellane will most likely feature quite a bit of my writing for her (and triss!) for the uhhhh foreseeable future lol ! comments and kudos as always are very much appreciated, and thank you all so much for reading ! <3


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